


a verb in perfect view

by elinadsy



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Fae folk, Gore, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Valduggery - Freeform, idiots to lovers, im back and im in hell, might be sex scenes? might not. who knows? not me, monster of the week style, theyre both just complete idiots but hey we been done knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2020-10-19 02:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinadsy/pseuds/elinadsy
Summary: While he’s seen many disturbing and disgusting things, the deep sense of wrongness that pervades the room has every one of those persistent nerve endings on the back of his vertebrae on end; the feeling that he’s stepping towards something of malicious indifference and unknowable magnitudes.or;Fifty years after storing their secrets in metal gears, Detectives Cain and Pleasant investigate a break-in of the magical variety.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> im back lmfoaooo i got this overall planned out but im working 20 hours a week and studying 30 hours a week so im stretched thin.. not sure how regular updates are gonna be.
> 
> anyway, this is gonna be post canon and will probably contradict anything that happens in canon after bedlam. not a big deal tho, bc the plot has nothing to do with phase 2. gonna be some good old fashioned monster of the week... but as a sneaky vehicle for valdug.. i am a Weak man lol

He’s familiar with how a secret feels. Of secrets light and bright, a kiss stolen under a flowering hazel tree on a cool summer’s eve; of secrets crushing and suffocating, a brother’s life crushed in his armoured hand. Skulduggery is a man entrenched with them, bogged down with them. He’s the skeleton in his own closet. 

So he knows to be wary of Mellifluous, a woman who collects secrets. Secrets have power, a latent potential; they create connections metaphysical and terrible. He’s already on edge after turning his head to find Valkyrie humming a single, steady note. She thinks he can’t see, she thinks he doesn’t  _ notice _ , how she’s coming apart at the seams. He wishes she would be angry at him, be furious at him, hold him accountable for the things he’s dragged her through. But she isn’t, and so he holds back, afraid to make everything worse, afraid to be the straw that snaps her back, afraid, afraid,  _ afraid. _

So, when they arrive at the house in the shape of a sigil that he knows from hearsay represents the unknowable, he’s… tense. Not even Mellifluous’s impeccable hairstyle (paying homage to the perfect Grace Kelly) can relax him. He’s disconnected, removed, until they sit down and Mellifluous crosses her long legs and asks them pointedly, “So what can I do for you?”  
“We need to get to Greymire Asylum,” Skulduggery says firmly, watching her face. All he gets from her is a raised eyebrow.

“My, my,” she says. “That’s an unusual one. Very few people have ever even heard of that God-awful place.”

“Do you know where it is?” Valkyrie asks. He sees (from the corner of the eyes he no longer has) how her knee is twitching.

“Me, personally? Not a clue, darling,” Mellifluous says, smoothing the material of her skirt, and there’s an uneasiness in her voice that goes beyond the concept of the asylum. Skulduggery files this away for later. “Nor do I want to. Even thinking about Greymire Asylum gives me the heebie-jeebies. I have a policy of staying away from places full of people who’d want to kill me and wear my face.” She laughs, adding, “Morbid. I love it.”

Skulduggery rather doubts she does, wonders if Valkyrie is noticing how Mellifluous casts the slightest glance to the cogs so prettily arranged on the wall. 

“Is it here?” Skulduggery asks quietly. “Is it one of your secrets?”

“Very possibly,” Mellifluous allows. “You may ask.”

Ask he does, loud and clear; as his voice rings through the strange building the gears shimmer, like a school of fish in the ocean under light.

“You’re in luck,” Mellifluous says, watching that light gleam. “This way.”

She leads them through the winding house, following that copper sheen; it stops at an unassuming cog two long rooms away.

“I do indeed possess that secret,” she says. “I will need two secrets in return- one from each of you.”

Skulduggery is unhappy and unsurprised. Of course she does.

“I don’t get it,” Valkyrie frowns. 

Mellifluous leads them into another room, and explains to Valkyrie how the house works, how her secret is the foundation on which this house of quiet and terrible power is built. The entire time, Skulduggery is blankly staring at the cogs, because he already knows which secret it has to be. The one that matters most.

“Who will hear it?” Valkyrie asks her. 

“Nobody,” Mellifluous tells her. “Not even me. If someone listens to a secret, it’s no longer a secret, is it?”

She’s not wrong, of course, so Skulduggery has to give Valkyrie a nod to reassure her. But magic contained is magic that can be taken, and he hopes Valkyrie understands the significance of this knowledge that will be encased in metal. 

“The cog will know if you’re lying,” Mellifluous says to them, to him, as their seperate doors close behind them, and her gaze lingers on him a moment too long for comfort.

A cog devoid of secrets sits on a table in the room, bare and cool, and Skulduggery stares at it for a long time. Longer than it should take to say seven words. 

(Wonders what Valkyrie is confiding to polished metal.)

Skulduggery technically has many secrets he could murmur instead, many other secrets he could leave entombed in this house, many other secrets that could pay the price. So it’s indulgent, unnecessary, that he chooses to tell this one. To tell his most shameful, meaningful secret, in the hope it might be a placebo for telling one of the friends he no longer has left.

“I am in love with Valkyrie Cain,” he says softly, and watches as a sheen bright and lustrous, brighter than many of the cogs they passed, shimmers through the metal. His secret trapped, his secret made tangible. 

(When he lifts it, it’s not as heavy as he thought, warm to the touch like a lover’s fingers.)

He leaves the room; Mellifluous stands there, hands clasped in front of her. He offers the cog; she takes it, and a strange expression quirks at the corner of her mouth. He waits, and after a few seconds, she looks at him.

“It’s warm,” she says.

“Is that not normal?” Skulduggery asks, suddenly concerned that she’s going to tell him that only the particularly nasty and immoral thoughts result in this and she’s going to guess his secret based on Roarhaven gossip and warm metal alone-

“They’re always cold,” Mellifluous says. “I’ve never held a warm secret before.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Valkyrie, luckily, steps back into the hallway and saves him the trouble.

“Well now,” Mellifluous says with a smile. “That must have been a very detailed secret.”

(Skulduggery checks his watch. He was in that room for ten minutes.) 

(How  _ embarrassing _ .)

“Sorry,” Valkyrie says. “I was having something of an internal debate.”

“They’re the best kind,” Mellifluous says, and Skulduggery keeps his skull looking straight ahead. Minutes later, as she places his cog on the wall, he fights the impulse to snatch it from her hands, melt it between fire wrapped fingers. Instead he watches that sheen, and wonders if he has made a terrible mistake.

And then, after Valkyrie’s secret joins Mellifluous’s collection, after they leave, he puts it from his mind and promptly (forcefully) forgets about it until fifty years later.

-

“We need a new sign,” Valkyrie tells him one rainy day as she shoulders the door open, a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other. Skulduggery looks up from his tablet, where he’s reading the morning news.

“I quite like our sign,” he says mildly. “It’s tasteful.”

“Yes,” she says. “Nothing says tasteful like a two metre long piece of solid silver with our names engraved in cryptic copperplate.”

“Well, as the one who did the paperwork for this company-”

“All two pages of it, oh, how horrible,” Valkyrie teases.

“-I rather think it’s my decision to make.”

She sets her bagel and coffee down on her desk and shrugs off her winter coat, reluctantly grinning. 

(Valkyrie only gets more and more beautiful as the years pass.)

(It will be the death of him.)

“I was thinking a classic neon sign,” she muses. 

“Neon?” Skulduggery says. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie says, sitting at her desk. “Proper noir aesthetic.”

“Next you’ll be suggesting I install shoddy horizontal blinds on the windows so we can peer through them at a mysterious and untrustworthy stranger loitering across the road,” Skulduggery says, putting his tablet down. The bell tinkles as the door opens, and in steps a woman Skulduggery hasn’t seen for a long time. 

Fifty years, to be exact.

“Mellifluous,” he says guardedly, as she closes the door behind her. She’s wearing a long faux fur coat and a pinched expression. The first suits her; the second, not so much.

“Been a while,” Valkyrie says by way of greeting. “Bagel?”

“Thank you, but I’m here on a very personal matter, and gluten tends to make me bloat,” she says. Skulduggery, chest cavity sinking, makes a motion; a comfortable mahogany chair slides from their coffee table by the window, and she gracefully sits down on it.

“How can we help?” Skulduggery asks, opening a new document file on his tablet.

“I’d prefer to keep this one off the books,” Mellifluous says, and Valkyrie looks at Skulduggery, brows raised. 

_ This doesn’t bode well, _ he thinks.

“I returned home from a trip overseas yesterday, to find my house burgled.”

Oh,  _ fuck. _

“What’s been taken?” Valkyrie asks, switching into investigator mode. “Valuables? Private documents?”

“It’s been a while since you visited me,” Mellifluous says with a rueful smile. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the unique architecture of my home.”

“Your secrets,” Skulduggery says flatly, and Valkyrie instantly looks concerned. “Someone stole them.”

“Every single one,” Mellifluous confirms, and Skulduggery thinks of that warm, shining metal between his hands and feels ill, even though he has nothing to feel ill with.

“Have you gone through official channels with this?” Valkyrie asks.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Skulduggery says, and that pinched expression on Mellifluous’s face grows tighter. “I’d imagine many a person in the council has a secret one her walls.”

“Exactly,” Mellifluous says, with a bitter twist of the mouth. “And not all of them are as… understanding as you two are.”

“I thought once they were in the gears, they were safe?” Valkyrie asks, leaning forward. He knows Valkyrie’s secret, of course- she told him herself, forty nine years ago, about Darquesse’s splinter roaming this dimension. He wonders how much power that secret generated. Wonders how much power  _ his _ secret generated.

“They  _ should _ be,” Mellifluous replies. “But as we all know, magic rarely sticks to its own rules, and I’m not the authority on separating magic from its vessel. Whoever stole them must have- or at least, think they have- a way to listen to my secrets.”

“How many of those gears were there, again?” Valkyrie asks.

“Seven hundred and thirty three.”

Valkyrie whistles. 

“It would a sizeable team to pull this off,” Skulduggery says, avoiding considering that someone could be listening to his secret right now. “Can you think of anyone with the motivation to do this?”

Mellifluous laughs. “Seven hundred and thirty three of them, darling.”

“Surely we can narrow that down,” Valkyrie says reasonably. “I mean, do you keep a record of some kind?”

“Not formally,” Mellifluous admits, “People would be significantly less amiable to giving me their secrets if I indulged in that sort of behaviour. But I have 24/7 security footage and an excellent memory.”

“I assume the footage mysteriously cut out around the same time everything was stolen?” Valkyrie asks.

“Of course.”

“It’s never easy, is it, this job,” Valkyrie sighs.

“I’ll make it well worth your while,” Mellifluous offers.

“I’m in no need of money,” Skulduggery says. “But if we do this for you, you need to do something for me.”

“Yes?” Mellifluous asks.

“I want to destroy my secret,” Skulduggery says, looking at her steadily. Valkyrie’s brows raise again, and he swears Mellifluous’s expression briefly ticks into a smile.

“The easiest way to destroy it is to tell someone,” she replies.

“That’s not an option.”

“Very well,” Mellifluous says, and extends her hand. “We have a deal.”

He shakes it, and hates the knowing expression in her eyes.

-

He can feel Valkyrie watching him from the passenger’s seat. In fifty years, she’s grown incrementally; a single centimeter in height, the faintest beginning of lines at the corner of her eyes, looking to be in her mid twenties rather than heading towards the end of her first century.

More beautiful than ever, of course.

“So,” Valkyrie says. “Regretting some choices, are we?”

“Always,” he says mildly, and spares her a glance. “Comes with the backstory, unfortunately.”

“I told you  _ my _ secret,” she says meaningfully. Nearly at the end of a century, but still annoying enough to make him sometimes reconsider his choice to put her name on the sign with his. 

“Yes, you did,” he says. 

“But I don’t know  _ your _ secret,” she says, wrapping a piece of her hair around her index finger innocently. The whole effect is spoiled by a toothy grin that makes her look a little daft.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you,” he says. “That is, in fact, the opposite of a secret, my dear.”

(He curses himself. He’s been trying to cut back on calling her that. Completely failing, of course.)

“Two people can have a secret,” she protests. “Darquesse for example? We kept that secret, remember?”

“I was there. Of course I remember.”

“Look, I won’t pressure you to tell me-”

“Much appreciated.”  
“But if you _don’t _tell me, I _might_ die.”

“As tragic as that would be, I’m sure I’d manage to go on,” he says, and laughs at the look on her face as they pull into Mellifluous’s driveway.

The house- which he remembers absolutely stinking of magics rare and powerful, is now just a house. An oddly shaped house, granted, but still just bricks and mortar.

“I remember it being a bit more, you know,” Valkyrie says, undoing her seatbelt. “Mysterious.”

“The magic is gone,” Skulduggery says, definitely not watching the curve of her neck as she tucks her hair behind her ear. 

She blinks, and her eyes, like a coin catching the light, shine a lustrous silver as she switches her vision.

“Not all of it,” she says; with another blink, her eyes are dark brown once more. They get out of the car, and make their way to the front door. 

It’s cold, blustery; Skulduggery can feel the air currents whipping from here to the ocean. A simple thought is all it takes for the air around them to still, and Valkyrie gives him a grateful smile.

Over the years, he thought this wretched thing he felt for her would fade, return to blessed platonic friendship. He’s seen her through Fletcher, Caelan, through Militsa and Klaus, through Daisy and Hiroko. He’s seen her at incredible emotional lows and terrible drug induced highs. He’s seen her covered in mud, in brains, in vomit and (on one notable occasion) in pig shit. Skulduggery’s shaved her leg for an operation, he’s drawn her blood, he’s cut her hair. By all accounts, he should find the idea of Valkyrie and him together mildly repulsive beyond the obvious watching her grow up factor. His friendship with her has resulted in intimacies grottier than most married couples will ever subject themselves to.

(But he hasn’t kissed her. Not properly. Hasn’t laid teeth to lips, hasn’t laid sternum to scarred flesh. That one, final, unreachable intimacy, the final sin.)

“You alright?”

They’re at the front door.

“Never better,” he replies, and rings the doorbell.

“Hey. Um. If I was being too much about you telling me your secret-”

“You’re always being too much,” he says, watching her sincere apology turn to an eye roll with fondness. The door opens before she can say something snarky, and Mellifluous lets them in.

“Apologies for the mess,” Mellifluous sighs. “My home being stripped of its magical protections and interior decorating makes for a difficult renovation.”

Indeed, the walls are bare, the timber floorboards scraped and in some places, burnt. Most interesting is the flash burn of gear shapes on the walls, the pervading smell (rattling up old nerve endings that persist through the magic he used to curse) is of iron, hot and metallic.

“Smells like blood,” Valkyrie remarks, her eyes flashing silver once more.

“No,” Skulduggery says, looking at Mellifluous. “It smells like magic-death.”

“One thing can smell like two things,” Mellifluous says.

“What’s magic-death?” Valkyrie asks. It’s a rare thing these days for her to not know what he’s talking about. Usually, he’d gloat, but he doesn’t like the implications of what they’ve found here.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Mellifluous answers for him. “It’s the result of magic being destroyed.”

“A very  _ particular _ type of magic being destroyed,” Skulduggery corrects her. “A type of magic I wasn’t aware still existed, actually.”

Mellifluous smiles faintly.

“You know,” Valkyrie says. “If either of you want to stop with the knowing looks and meaningful phrasing and just say what’s going on for those of us who have no idea what this all means, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Fae magic,” Skulduggery says. “Very dangerous, very powerful stuff.”

“Fae like… fairies?” Valkyrie says. “Mushroom rings and all that?”

“Toadstool rings,” Mellifluous murmurs. 

“I thought the fae died out long ago,” Skulduggery says to Mellifluous.

“Not all of them were so inflexible,” Mellifluous shrugs. “My grandmother was always partial to mankind.”

“You’re a fairy?” Valkyrie says disbelievingly. 

“A quarter,” Mellifluous says. “On my father’s side. I like to keep it to myself. Your Mr. Pleasant here would appreciate why.”

“Kidnapping babies, stealing names, trapping people in pocket dimensions,” Skulduggery lists off. “Yes, I can understand why you wouldn’t want people to know.”

Mellifluous’s smile turns hard. “I’m glad you agree the propagation of harmful stereotypes is an awful thing.”

“The fairy folk created vampires and werewolves,” Skulduggery reminds her. “For a  _ laugh. _ ”

“And humans killed millions of innocent indigenous people and created the atomic bomb,” Mellifluous says. “And that’s just the mortals.”

“We aren’t here to discuss the ethical qualities of the fae and human kind,” Valkyrie says sharply, more to him than Mellifluous. “So, we have this… magic-death? Anything else left behind by the thieves?”

“Yes,” Mellifluous says, and leads them through the long hallways to a room just past where the gear with the location of the asylum once hung, all those years ago.

It smells of magic-death in this room too, but it’s far from being the most disturbing thing here. 

“What the  _ fuck _ is that,” Valkyrie says loudly, pointing at the ring of what looks like giant, rotting, bleeding teeth growing from the floor. 

Skulduggery’s been striding along this mortal coil for a long time now, and while he’s seen many disturbing and disgusting things, the deep sense of wrongness that pervades the room has every one of those persistent nerve endings on the back of his vertebrae on end, the feeling that he’s stepping towards something of malicious indifference and unknowable magnitudes. The only thing that’s ever invoked this feeling is all those years ago when Paddy opened a portal and brought the Faceless Ones walking through.

“ _ Hydnellum Peckii _ ,” Skulduggery says, ignoring the way his bones are aching. “Also known as bleeding tooth fungus.”

“Oh, of course,” Valkyrie says. “My mistake.” She blinks those silver eyes, and then frowns. “It’s magical.”

“Obviously.”

“No, it’s magical, present tense. It’s actively producing magic.”

“It’s a fairy ring,” Mellifluous says. 

Valkyrie eyes it. “Let me guess. Don’t step in it, right?”

“You needn’t worry,” Skulduggery tells her. “They only work for the fae. These rings how they travel.”

“So we have the remainder of destroyed fairy magic, and a pathway to wherever the thieves came from,” Valkyrie muses, sitting on her haunches to examine the gruesome looking fungus more closely. “Seems a little too convenient, if you ask me.”

“I thought you said you had no clue who might have a motive,” Skulduggery says to Mellifluous, crossing his arms. 

“I wasn’t about to talk to you about a largely unknown fae community in your sigil-ridden office, Mr. Pleasant,” she replies. 

“She’s got a point,” Valkyrie says to him. He ignores her.

“I don’t make a habit of working cases where the client is actively lying to me,” he says. “If you want us to help you, you need to tell us everything you know.”

“I expected nothing less. Why don’t we sit down and have a cup of tea, and you can play good cop bad cop or whatever it is investigators do these days?”

“We don’t play good cop bad cop,” Skulduggery grumbles as they follow her out of the room.

“That’s only because you’re terrible at being good cop,” Valkyrie says to him in a low voice.

“I’m a skeleton and a war veteran,” he replies back, equally as low. “I don’t exactly scream  _ cute and cuddly.” _

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve  _ never _ screamed cute and cuddly.”

“Well, I’ve screamed it once or twice. The words, I mean. Not together, of course. On separate occasions.”

She punches his arm. He lets her.

“How do you take your tea, Ms. Cain?” Mellifluous asks, as they round a bend and come into an impeccable elongated kitchen.

“Black,” Valkyrie says, sitting down at the table. “With one sugar, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Mellifluous says, setting to making it. Silence, and Skulduggery takes the time to absorb this new information, to think about those malignant growths in a ring on her floor. 

Like teeth. Troublesome, unsettling.

Mellifluous hands Valkyrie her tea, and sits down as well. Skulduggery remains standing.

“The fae community in Ireland is insular,” Mellifluous says. “They don’t take kindly to outsiders, and they especially don’t take kindly to  _ bairelle _ .”

“Mongrels,” Skulduggery says, for Valkyrie’s benefit. Her Gaelic is still patchy, even with all the informal lessons he’s given her over the years.

“While I may disagree with Mr. Pleasant’s assessment of the fae people, I can’t disagree that in general, they aren’t a fan of mankind,” Mellifluous continues. “Ever since the first iron tool was forged, it marked the end of the fae’s freedom in the realm of man. But unlike a full blooded fae, iron does not affect the  _ bairelle _ \- it holds no danger for us. But we can still travel through the rings, and we can still use the old magic.”

“They’re jealous,” Valkyrie says. 

“And a little afraid,” Mellifluous smiles.

“Sounds like we’ve narrowed the list,” Valkyrie says, taking a sip of her tea.

“Not quite,” Skulduggery points out. “Magic-death only occurs when an iron instrument destroys fae magic. So it can’t have been the fae.”

“Quite right,” Mellifluous nods. “Which is where my suspect comes in. Hundreds of years ago, I fell in love. He was a passionate scholar, fascinated with the fey.  _ Bairelle _ , just like me- but mortal born. I was content to leave my heritage in the past, and he was… obsessed with it. He had no idea how to use his own magic, and so he became fixated on mine. I realised far too late he wanted me only so I could teach him, and I left before he could do anything... dangerous.”

“What was his name?” Valkyrie asks.

“Gan Athair.”

Skulduggery frowns. “Chosen name, or given?”

“Chosen,” Mellifluous says wryly. “Should have been a red flag, really.”

“Wait,  _ gan athair _ ? As in  _ fatherless?”  _ Valkyrie frowns. “Cool, so he has daddy issues.”

“He has a little more than that,” Mellifluous says, with a smile that’s mainly teeth. “Not long after we parted ways, he disappeared for seventy years. When I next heard of him, he had been taken into custody for the brutal murder of a small village entirely populated by  _ bairelle _ .”

“Oh,” Valkyrie says. “Lovely.”

“I remember hearing about this,” Skulduggery says. “Near the Forthill Bog.”

“Yes.”

“I thought he was taken into custody?”

“He was, of a kind. I believe you two are quite familiar with the place, actually. It’s how we met all those years ago.”

“Greymire Asylum,” Valkyrie murmurs, a shadow passing over her face that reminds him of darker times, when she was balancing with bare feet on a knife’s edge.

“Greymire was dissolved twenty years ago,” Skulduggery says, pressing his knee against Valkyrie’s. “The patients were transferred to proper medical facilities and jails. It’ll take us a while to figure out where he last was.”

“Well, I think you’re missing the obvious alternative,” Valkyrie says, pressing his knee back, and the contact makes him thrum. “We have a fairy ring leading straight to the thief, and someone who can operate it.”

“We aren’t leaping into an obvious trap,” he says, looking at her. “Not without some research and serious firepower.”

“The ring will wither by the next full moon,” Mellifluous says. “I’ll need to be there to both let you through and let you back in. That gives you a week to get what you need, go through, find my secrets, and come back- hopefully with them.”

“Give us a few days to look into this and prepare,” Skulduggery says. “We’ll be in contact.”

Mellifluous inclines her head as Valkyrie stands to leave.

“Thanks for the tea,” Valkyrie adds. “Give us a call if anything changes, alright?”

“Of course,” she replies. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Valkyrie leaves the cup in the saucer, and they leave. Driving away, Valkyrie is quiet, looking out the window, thinking to herself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he offers.

“You can have them for free,” she says with a tired smile. “I was just thinking about the first few years after I came back.”

“They were difficult times,” Skulduggery says diplomatically. It’s not like he can tell her how every waking moment was spent worrying for her, spent drowning in guilt and fear.

“I’ll say,” Valkyrie says. “You almost had a son for a hot second there.”

“And you were betrayed by your evil fiancee,” Skulduggery says cheerfully. “What a time that was.”

“Don’t remind me,” Valkyrie grumbles, having long since added Militsa’s name below Caelan’s in the  _ We Don’t Talk About Them _ list. “So, what’s the plan? I’m assuming, of course, you have a plan.”

“Loosely,” he says. “We need to read up on Mr. Athair, for a start.”

“Reading. Lame.”

“Don’t worry. When I say  _ we _ , I mean  _ me _ . And I want to go pay a visit to a witch.”

“A witch?”

“I’m not sure if you remember her. Misery, her name was. Her grandmother trapped me in a basement once. Very amusing and not at all embarrassing.”

Valkyrie frowns, and then laughs. “Oh, right. The Monster Hunters and I came to your rescue.”

“I wouldn’t call it a rescue,” Skulduggery says.

“You were trapped,” Valkyrie points out. “And we freed you.”

“I could have left at any time,” Skulduggery says confidently. “In any case, her grandmother, Dubhog Ni Broin, was the leader of the Irish coven when she was a little younger and slightly less warty. Though Mrs. Broin passed away fifty or so years ago, she passed all her knowledge down to Misery. If anyone had dealings with this secretive, old magic community Mellifluous was talking about, it’s likely to be her.”

“Alright. Sounds reasonable.”

“And finally, I want to go pick up some iron bullets,” Skulduggery says. “If we’re going to be potentially dealing with full blooded fairies, I’d like to be prepared.”

“Maybe it’s time I get a gun,” Valkyrie says. 

“I’ve only been telling you to get a gun for the last five decades,” Skulduggery sighs, turning the car to the left. 

“Maybe you can lend me one,” she suggests. “Until we have time to go shopping, I mean.”

He looks at her. “Do you even know how to shoot my guns?”

“You literally paid for me to go through firearm classes,” Valkyrie reminds him.

“Yes, but do you know how to shoot  _ my _ guns? Do you know exactly when the barrel is likely to jam? How to stand just  _ so _ , so that the kickback doesn’t throw you off balance?” When she rolls her eyes, he nods. “I thought not.”

“You could show me,” she says, and waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively. Then she starts humming the  _ Righteous Brothers’ _ cover of  _ Unchained Melody _ . 

_ “Ghost?” _ he says dryly. “Really?”

(Because he’s not at all imagining that, his arms around her, cupping her hands, lining up the sights, the kickback of the shot pushing her hips into his, absolutely  _ not.) _

“Hey, I’m a simple woman. I see the chance to make a  _ Ghost _ pottery scene joke, I take it.”

“Simple isn’t a strong enough word,” Skulduggery says. 

“Watch yourself, Mr. Pleasant,” Valkyrie says, but she’s grinning. 

“Shall I pick you up tomorrow to go to Misery’s?” he asks, the turn off for her little cottage coming up. 

(She long since moved out of Gordon’s house, full of too many old memories unsavoury and sweet, gave it away to a mortal charity that uses it for education and writing workshops for kids with learning disabilities. No one was left in the family to dispute it, after all.)

(Of course, the tunnels below were long since caved in with the curl of a few finger bones.)

“Let’s go get dinner,” she suggests, perhaps (is it his imagination?) a little hopefully. 

“The little Italian place off Sorrows Avenue?”

“No. Somewhere mortal,” she says. “That Chinese restaurant I like that does the really good salt and pepper tofu.”

“Xin Ai,” he says. “I do like the ambience.”

“You like the waitresses complimenting you on your suits,” she corrects him.

“I’m a simple man,” he shrugs. 

-

They go out to dinner often, these days. In fact, if Skulduggery stops to think about it, they often go to lunch as well. He may not be able to eat or drink, but he can watch Valkyrie drop food everywhere and get bits of vegetable in her teeth and sometimes, because he can’t help himself, he’ll exasperatedly wipe a bit of sauce off her cheek with a napkin because  _ for God’s sake, can’t I take you anywhere? _ And she’ll give him this wonderful little smile and a droll roll of her eyes, and it’s like a fist to the sternum, his love for her.

Tonight, he restrains himself from dabbing at her face with a napkin but he does keep her water glass topped up and serve her food.

As they go to the counter to pay, he idly listens to the two waitresses chatting and is very glad Valkyrie never got around to taking those Mandarin classes.

“喂,” the slighter younger one says. “她男友那么帅啊！“

”关了,” the waitress serving him says with an apologetic look at him. ”他听得到!”

He gives her an awkward smile, and pays, wondering the entire time if other people who don’t know them also think him and Valkyrie are a couple.

The idea is thrilling. That while fake skin lays over his bones, someone who knows nothing about them might see them as ordinary, with all the wonderful and terrible things that come with it.

“Can I stay over?” Valkyrie yawns, as they walk back to the car.

“I suppose,” he says. “But I’m not tucking you in and singing you a lullaby.”

“How about I make the bed, but you still sing me a song,” she bargains.

“Which song?” he sighs.

“You pick.”

“How generous.”

“I try,” she grins. 

Well, true to her word, she does indeed make up her bed (as if he wouldn’t have done it, as if he didn’t pick out the linens and the mattress and the furniture in her room for her, mismatching everything else in his house.) and after he hears the shower turn off, he comes up to find her clean and warm in a spare t-shirt and pajama pants, climbing in between the covers. The room is lit by a single lamp, soft and intimate.

Yes, he’s seen Valkyrie covered in shit and vomit, he’s seen her in battle regalia and seen her in dresses that would make him flush, if he had the capability. But seeing her like this; a little sleepy, in a t-shirt with holes and baggy pajama pants, hair damp. 

He loves her. And she will never return those feelings, and it is what it is.

“You okay?” Valkyrie asks, pulling the covers up to her chin and burrowing into the bed like a worm. “You’ve been a little quiet.”

“Just thinking about the case,” he lies.

“Always on the job,” she says. “I hope I can pull you away from your important work to sing to me a little.”

“For you?” he says, a little too sincerely. “Always.”

“Mm,” she says, closing her eyes. “Well, get on with it.”

_ “It must have been moonglow,” _ he sings, watching how she brings her hands up beneath her cheek.  _ “Way up in the blue. It must have been moonglow that led me straight to you.” _

He only makes it to the second verse and she’s already asleep, of course. As he does every time this happens, Skulduggery abruptly leaves the room to go read through the case file’s on Gan Athair.

(He’s afraid he’ll do something foolish, like stroke her hair or kiss her on the nose if he doesn’t. And he can’t-  _ won’t _ \- ruin the most important relationship in his life. It took them a decade to restore their friendship, damaged as it was after everything with Caisson and Abyssinia, and even though Skulduggery has lived long enough to find a decade passes quickly, it was one of the longest in his life.)

(The five years she left for America takes the prize in that category, every second of it like watching a pot simmer and simmer and simmer, never reaching boiling point.)

-

They sky is clear when they set out for Misery’s cottage in Glenealo Alley- the heart of the hills and valleys south of Dublin. 

“So, the middle of nowhere,” Valkyrie says helpfully. 

“A little to the right of nowhere, and a klick or two down,” Skulduggery corrects her. “But more or less, yes.”

“Ooh,  _ klicks _ ,” Valkyrie grins, looking away from the homogenous scenery to raise her brows at him. “Look at Mister Army Man over here.”

“Glenealo Valley is actually a significant site for Ireland’s covens,” Skulduggery says, ignoring her charming dimples. “In the mid 1300’s, it was a warded sanctuary for those fleeing mortal persecution- whether they were witches or not.”

“Mortals and witches lived together?” Valkyrie says, grin dropping. “Did it work?”

“For a time,” Skulduggery says. “Many warts were shared, I imagine.”

A pause, and then: “Every time I think I’m okay with being a little bit immortal, I miss them,” Valkyrie says, looking out the window. 

“Time is like the ocean against the rocks,” Skulduggery says, having long since forgotten the sound of his mother’s laugh. “Whether you like it or not, you’ll be okay with it eventually.”

“Wow. That’s, uh. Depressing.”

“Realistic,” Skulduggery says, greatly distressed by the forlorn expression on her face. “Also, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about the warts, yet.”

“Warts?” Valkyrie says, mouth twitching. “I thought that was just your face.”

Skulduggery laughs, despite himself. “No, I mean on the witches.”

“Oh. I thought you were just joking around, because stereotypes and all that.”

“I would  _ never _ joke about stereotypes. No,” he continues in his most serious tone, greatly enjoying himself, “The warts are actually an allergic reaction to the way witches use magic. It’s why the older the witch is, the wartier they are.”

Without turning his skull, he watches Valkyrie consider this, then squint at him, then consider it again.

“I don’t know if you’re being serious,” she says eventually.

“When am I not serious?” he says in fake outrage, and is saved from spoiling it all by laughing when he sees the turn for the long driveway leading to Misery’s cottage.

It’s more well kept than he remembers; the driveway’s stones more even and regular, the grass still high but perhaps greener. The cottage seems to have had the same treatment; the stones weathered but clean and the porch’s wood polished.

“Oh, it’s pretty,” Valkyrie said in surprise.

“What were you expecting?” Skulduggery says, getting out of the car. The air out here is fresh, crisp, the sun warm on his back. It really is a lovely day.

“I vaguely remember the cottage being rundown, and Misery a bit… unreasonable,” Valkyrie says in a low voice as they come to the porch. 

“Well, she was eighteen,” Skulduggery says diplomatically. “Teenagers will be teenagers.”

“I was a teenager at the time,” Valkyrie says a little defensively. He knocks on the door.

“Yes,” Skulduggery says, greatly enjoying the look she shoots him when he doesn’t elaborate.

The door opens. A woman who looks not much older than Valkyrie stands before them; a shaved head, cool eyes, and full, red lips. 

Not a wart in sight, of course. 

“Ms. Cain, it’s been a while. Mr. Pleasant,” she says, and pauses before delivering a devastating blow: “You aren’t as tall as I remember. Come in, I’ve just made muffins.”

She turns and walks back into the house. Valkyrie grins.

“Oh, I  _ like  _ her,” Valkyrie whispers, and follows her in.

“She couldn’t be over five foot six,” Skulduggery mutters, and closes the door behind him.

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here,” Misery says, leading them through to an airy living room warmed by the sun dappling the windows. “It’s a bit difficult to find on Maps.”

“None at all. Might I say, I quite like what you’ve done with the place?” Skulduggery adds, taking the proffered spot on a very plush leather couch. Valkyrie sits next to him, and Misery sits on the equally plush armchair adjacent.

“Nana was never a fan of change,” Misery says. “Or a good clean, in fact. I may be a witch, but I prefer my home free of dust.”

“It’s a lot nicer than I remember,” Valkyrie says.

Misery looks at her. “I see you’re just as polite a houseguest as the last time you were here.” She glances at Skulduggery. “More polite than him, at least. Not that that’s difficult.”

“You make it sound like I  _ forced  _ myself into your basement and made your grandmother threaten me,” Skulduggery says.

“You  _ did _ kick down our door,” Misery says. 

“And a very nice door it was not,” Skulduggery says cheerfully.

“Is he always like this?” Misery asks Valkyrie.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Well, let’s get this over and done with,” Misery sighs, brushing some lint from her pleasingly witchy skirt. “I have a goat whose intestines I’ll be needing to pull out before dark.”

She says it with a little smile. Probably a joke, but Skulduggery has long since learned that a smile does not a joke make. 

“We’re trying to find a man named Gan Athair, member of the  _ bairelle _ community. We were hoping you might know where we can start.”

“The name rings a bell,” Misery says slowly. “But the  _ bairelle _ community is incredibly secretive. Even as the leader of the coven, I don’t know much about them.”

“Anything you could tells us would be great,” Valkyrie says. “Mellifluous wasn’t able to give us much to go on.”

“Well, they’re not a friendly lot,” Misery says. 

“They never are,” Skulduggery mutters.

“Most  _ bairelle _ aren’t too interested in exploring their fae heritage,” Misery continues. “But when we talk about their  _ community _ , it’s mainly referring to a settlement of about a thousand in a town about twenty kilometers away Killarney.”

“What’s it called?” Valkyrie asks.

Misery interlaces her hands. “They don’t have a name for it,” she says. “To name it would be to make it knowable. They mainly just call it… home.” She pauses. “If you have a map, I can show you. Part of its wards make it unplottable, though, so I hope you have a good memory.”

Pulling out his phone, Skulduggery opens Maps and she shows him; he memorises it, puts it away.

“You’re magical folk, so you should be able to just walk in. I’d be careful, though,” Misery adds. “They’ve got some peculiar magic up there, proper old world stuff. Might end up with your skin inside out and organs turned into rats or something.”

“We know iron can’t hurt  _ bairelle _ , but is there anything that might? Or conversely, something that might make them stronger?” Skulduggery asks.

“Iron won’t kill them magically, but a well placed bullet never hurts,” Misery shrugs. “But I’d be wary of the usual things: don’t give them your name, don’t eat their food or drinks, and don’t confront them in the light of the moon. Just because they aren’t full blooded fairy doesn’t mean they should be underestimated.” She pauses. “Oh, and whatever you do,  _ don’t _ litter.”

“Does that make the fairy folk really angry or something?” Valkyrie asks, leaning forward.

“Yeah, but mainly because they can’t use the mortal council to dispose of their waste.”

“No littering,” Skulduggery nods. “Got it.”

Misery looks at them, and there’s silence for a bit before she says, “Well, that’s all I have for you, so…”

“Hint taken,” Skulduggery says. “I assume you have a maypole to dance around while inappropriately dressed, or something similarly ridiculous.” 

Misery gives him a long, slow sort of smile that surprises him. “You’re welcome to join me, Mr. Pleasant. There’s no need to be shy.”

Skulduggery clears his throat,  _ very _ aware that Valkyrie’s brow is raised.

“Right,” he says, a little more abruptly than he intends to. “We had better get a move on. Thanks for your cooperation, Misery.”

“Anytime,” she says lazily. “I’m sure you remember the way to the door.”

Valkyrie follows him out. He can feel her eyes on his back, and good God,  _ he’s embarrassed _ .

“You alright?” Valkyrie asks him as they get back into the car. She’s got a strange expression on her face, one he can’t place.

“Perfect,” he says, and starts the car. “Seatbelt.”

“If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d say you were… flustered.”

“I don’t get flustered,” Skulduggery says immediately, because he can’t exactly tell her that the idea of anyone but her touching him makes him… uncomfortable, can he?

“Mm,” Valkyrie says noncommittally, which is out of character. Where’s the witty barb that digs at his many charming character faults? 

He peers at her as he does a u-turn and heads down the driveway. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“Perfect,” she says, that strange expression on her face, and he finally places it; jealousy.

The realisation makes his heart sink. Right, of course. Misery is objectively, attractive and probably Valkyrie’s type. Frankly, he’s still befuddled by the entire exchange; who looks at him, bleach bones and empty eye sockets and thinks,  _ yes, this is exactly what I look for in a sexual and/or romantic partner? _

Flattering, of course. But at the end of the day, there’s only one person for him anymore, and she’s sitting right next to him, singing Muddy Water’s  _ Got My Mojo Working _ in a key so off it makes him want to dig his finger bones into the spots his ears used to be in.

But, he muses as he tactfully creates an airshield around where said spaces are and is blessedly released from Valkyrie’s singing, that’s love.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they drive a lot. valkyrie burns some rice. skulduggery is exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been going thru some major upheaval in my life so enjoy this chapter thats 7 months late kings LOLL 
> 
> there'll be one more chap after this- probably a long one tho, and no idea when it'll be up lol ty for reading tho!!!

It’s been a while since they took on a case that required some significant level of preparation- or shopping. So several days later, when the blacksmith's is open, they go to meet with Skulduggery’s weapon vendor of choice. 

Their name is Iarann Hammer, which in Skulduggery’s opinion is a little on the nose. However, as an Adept who has based their entire discipline around blacksmithery and metal, it’s a little fitting as well.

Iarann lives on the very outskirts of Roarhaven, in a nondescript looking warehouse that stinks of metal and fire. They park the Bentley out the front, and walk in. 

“Christ,” Valkyrie coughs, flapping her hand in front of her face. “Every time, I remember I should have brought a gas mask or something.”

Skulduggery glances at her watering eyes and makes a small motion; the air surrounding them becomes smoke free, and she smiles at him gratefully.

The first room of the warehouse is largely filled with boxes and display cabinets; they pass through into the actual blacksmithery to find Iarann hunched over a project Skulduggery can’t immediately identify, their fingers painstakingly shaping small links of metal. Iarann’s face is covered by sigil glass fixed to an elegant leather headband, a sorcerer’s answer to the welding helmet.

Iarann has been making swords and guns and God knows what else since Skulduggery was old enough to pick one up; their creations helped turn the tide of the war. These days, Iarann mainly creates interesting sculptures for the pleasure of it, and weapons for the income. China has been enlisting them as a subcontractor for years, as has Corrival Academy.

Iarann looks up a little grumpily. “You’re early,” they observe.

“No traffic,” Skulduggery cheerily. 

“Hhm,” Iarann says, and smiles at Valkyrie. “Lovely to see you as always, Ms. Cain.”

Valkyrie offers a wide smile, and Skulduggery would huff if he had the lungs. What it is with grumpy old people loving Valkyrie he’ll never know.

“Are the bullets ready?” Skulduggery asks, and Iarann heaves a put-upon sigh. 

“Yes, yes, hold on,” Iarann says, carefully finishing whatever it is they’re doing. “If I stop now, a week’s worth of work will be lost, and I’ll be sending you the bill.”

“You say that like you don’t always send me the bill.”

“This little creation is worth more than everything you’ve ever commissioned from me put together, Pleasant,” Iarann grunts. 

“What is it?” Valkyrie asks, leaning in for a closer look.

“A good luck charm for my great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter,” Iarann says, and puts it down. Valkyrie blinks.

“How many greats was that?” She asks Skulduggery.

“Bullets should be over here,” Iarann sighs, getting up and cracking their back and looking through a large shelving unit full of boxes and parcels. They pull out quite a hefty box of what Skulduggery knows from the labelling are his bullets, but something else as well.

“Thought you might want this too,” Iarann explains, holding it out. “From what you said over the phone, sounds like it might be useful.”

It’s a little velvet drawstring bag. Skulduggery takes the box of bullets but Valkyrie takes the bag before Skulduggery can reach out for it, of course. She spills the contents into her palm; two necklaces, each attached to a metallic looking rock.

Valkyrie holds one up. “Uh, thanks?”

“Hag stones,” Skulduggery says, and Iarann nods. 

“I hope you aren’t calling me ugly,” Valkyrie says good-naturedly to Iarann, who laughs.

“No,” they say. “Hag stones are any type of stone or pebble that have naturally eroded holes through the middle of them.”

“The fae employ illusory magic,” Skulduggery explains. “But looking through a hag stone’s hole allows you to see the truth. I hate to say it, but I hadn’t even thought about them.”

“With age comes wisdom,” Iarann nods. “Besides, I knew a fairy once. He stole my favourite pot plant. Nasty buggers. I’ve always had a hag stone on me ever since.”

“Did you get the plant back?” Valkyrie asks, putting the necklace on.

“Oh, yes,” Iarann says darkly, not offering any further explanation. “These hag stones are special, though; they’re not just any ordinary rock. They’re magnetite- an iron ore. Not only will they help see past illusory magic, but carrying one on your skin will work as an amulet of sorts against fae words and lies.”

“How much?” Skulduggery asks.

Iarann shakes their head. “No charge. Just make sure you bring them- and Ms. Cain here- back safe and sound.”

“Aw,” Valkyrie says, elbowing Skulduggery. “Hear that? I’m Iarann’s favourite.”

“She is,” Iarann agrees. “No offence, Pleasant. She’s just a lot funnier than you.”

“I’m a paying customer, you know,” Skulduggery says, mortally wounded.

Iarann grins at him. “You say that like it means anything.” They flap a hand at the two of them. “Off you go. I have work to do.”

Thoroughly dismissed and offended, Skulduggery leaves the workshop, Valkyrie trailing after him.

“Funnier than you, huh?” Valkyrie muses as they get into the Bentley. 

“Iarann’s on the brink of Alzheimers,” Skulduggery says. “Or maybe they’re deaf. Both, I think.”

“Your ego’s taken quite the blow these last few days,” Valkyrie grins. “How are you feeling?”

“Beset on all sides,” Skulduggery grumbles, and Valkyrie laughs, reaching across and patting his knee.

“Well, I like you,” Valkyrie says, eyes twinkling, and his knee is on  _ fire.  _ “Even if you’re a little short and not very funny.”

“Thank God for that,” Skulduggery says, and it doesn’t come out as biting as he intends.

-

Skulduggery drops Valkyrie back to her house so she can get some gear together and practice shooting with the pistol he gave her a couple of decades ago while he makes an exciting trip to the Archives.

The Archives are China’s answer to her library from years ago. Yes, they have the Whispering, but sometimes, it’s nice to have the weight of a book in your hands, and some knowledge is too trivial- or too powerful- to just make available.

The Archives take up an entire building, and twenty floors. The topside ten floors are unimportant or rare (but harmless) artefacts and books; the subterranean ten floors are restricted access, heavily guarded and sigiled, and a little foreboding. 

Skulduggery of course has been given full access to the Archives, so he flashes his Arbiter’s badge at the scanner and waltzes down to the seventh floor, which is dedicated to the storage of old case files from the Sanctuary throughout the years and very well organised.

Consequently, it doesn’t take him too long to find Gan Athair’s file, helpfully labelled  _ Athair, G. _ Unfortunately, it’s very sparse; a sketch (God, a sketch? Really?) of the man’s face, accompanied by various personal details like height, weight and eye color. It details him as an Elemental and lists each victim of his massacre, and concludes he was shipped off to Greymire after the officers handling his case deduced (reasonably, Skulduggery thinks) that he was a threat to the population at large and mentally unstable. From there though, his record ends- presumably because Greymire had a record of their own.

After Greymire was disbanded, the assorted inmates ( _ victims _ , as Valkyrie put it with a sharp twist of her lips when they heard the news) were rehomed or rejailed as appropriate in facilities all over the world. But there should be at least a statement in this report detailing  _ where _ he was sent. A search through the catalogue turns up nothing, so he takes a seat and closes his eyes and enters the Whispering instead.

His magical signature has also been granted with full access (or so he assumes) as he calls up the inmate transferral details for Greymire- heavily classified, but he wills it and then he has it, and-

Gan Athair isn’t there. Those details haven’t even been removed; they’re just absent.

Skulduggery opens his eyes and leans back in the chair, considering this, and then makes a few phone calls.

-

These days, China largely keeps to herself. No longer the Supreme Overlord or whatever it was she felt was appropriate during the time of the Darkly Prophecy, she makes few public appearances and, it seems, just does her job.

Today, she’s in her office at the High Sanctuary, in a modest suit, tapping away at her tablet and filling out what he assumes is boring paperwork. He hasn’t spoken to her for several months; now that she’s part of a democratic board wherein she holds equal power as everyone else, he doesn’t have to deal with her unless he wants to. 

It’s a complicated feeling he holds towards her. Sadness, mostly. Much of his anger is gone, these days, and it’s never escaped his notice that China has never once told anyone of the shadows that live in his bones.

“Skulduggery,” she says in that soft voice, faintly smiling. “You don’t have an appointment.”

After everything-her crimes, her foolishness, her lapse into what could kindly be labelled insanity- several of her tattooed sigils were removed. One of them was the sigil that elevated her beauty into the realms of hypnosis, and so her smile is nothing more than a smile; he no longer feels that tug at the breastbone. 

“Apologies,” he says, and she offers him the seat across from her desk. “I’m operating on a tight timeframe, and I know your appointments are hard to come by.”

“I understand.” She pauses. “How is Valkyrie?”

“She’s well,” Skulduggery says. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” China says, and Skulduggery nods. “How can I help today?”

“I need the transferral details for an inmate from Greymire Asylum. The information is missing from the Archives  _ and _ the Whispering, and he’s the main suspect in a case we’ve been hired for.”

“As an Arbiter, you should have the same level of access to the Whispering as me,” China says with a frown. “What was their name? I’ll check for you.”

“Gan Athair,” Skulduggery says, and China raises a brow.

“Interesting choice of name,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes; a second later, she opens them, and shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “I’d suggest speaking with the Order of the Void, but…”

“They’re dead.”

“Yes,” China says. “I can go through the appropriate channels to launch an investigation-”

“No need,” Skulduggery says, standing up. “We can proceed without it.”

China frowns at him. “I need to make sure it’s investigated anyway.”

“Oh, absolutely. I just suspect we’ll turn up the culprit before you do, since we don’t have to worry about going through the right channels and so on.” 

“Right,” she says wryly. “I spend a regrettable amount of time doing things the right way these days.”

Skulduggery inclines his head, and China stands up to offer her goodbyes.

“Please pass my regards to Valkyrie,” she says quietly, before he passes through the door.

He pauses, and glances back at her. Even without that sigil, she’s as beautiful as the day he met her all those centuries ago, when he was barely of age and thought her eyes were the loveliest things he had ever seen. 

_ (Too much water flows under  _ that  _ particular bridge,  _ she had told Valkyrie many years ago, and he’d argue the bridge has long since fallen.)

“Of course,” he nods, and closes her office door behind him. He sits with silence in the Bentley all the way to Valkyrie’s house. He’d like to say he spends the entire time thinking about the case and making clever connections but instead, he just thinks about China, and his wife, and his child, and the tangled webs mages weave over lives that are too long and too short.

His three great loves, all ending at once in one way or another, and it still shocks him that he has been given a fourth in all its limitation and improbability.

“Are you okay?” Valkyrie asks him as he follows her to her indoor training area, where she’s set up targets. “You seem quiet.”

“I’m making clever connections,” he tells her, and she laughs. “How’s practice?”

“Like riding a bicycle,” she shrugs, and takes up a strong stance, just like he taught her. He watches her sink several perfect shots into the target.

“See? Told you.”

“Your stance could use some adjusting,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes. “Your right foot is angled a little too far out.”

“Are we finally going to have our little  _ Ghost  _ moment?” she says, waggling her brows.

“A  _ Ghost _ moment isn’t going to remind you how to shoot properly,” he says roughly, and she makes a noncommittal noise, turning her foot out even  _ further. _

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he grumbles, and crosses the room to her. She starts humming  _ Unchained Melody _ again and he almost chuckles, but settles for kneeling down and moving her foot back into place.

“Thank you,” she says innocently, and he glances up at her to see she’s grinning down at him. “Can you tie my shoelace up while you’re at it?”

“Of course, my dear,” he says, and yanks her foot out from under her; she falls to the ground with a surprised yelp and starts laughing.

“God, you’re rude,” she says, sitting up and brushing her hair from her face. She’s beaming like an idiot, and the space in his chest feels full.

-

Later that night, he disassembles his guns and polishes each part while Valkyrie watches on. The antique record player she bought on a whim is playing some old Billie Holiday hits in the corner, and it’s peaceful. 

He feels peaceful very often, these days.

“How was China?” Valkyrie asks after a period of prolonged silence and watching his fingers.

“Professional, and cooperative, as usual,” he replies. “She sends her regards, by the way.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, and he glances up; she’s fiddling with her hair, gazing into the distance.

“Valkyrie?”

“Just thinking,” she says, and seems to come back to the present, meeting his eyes. “I’m still not sure that I want to repair that relationship.”

“I know how you feel,” he says, and means it. “Welcome to being immortal, for all intents and purposes.”

“I don’t know how you can talk to her,” she admits. “I’m still- angry. Betrayed.”

He shrugs. “Like me, China has been several different people in her life. No doubt she’ll be several more before she dies.”

“So there’s some hope left for you, I suppose,” Valkyrie says jokingly, but her mouth is still thin. 

“Our lives are long, and our community is small,” Skulduggery reminds her. “I try to forgive where I can.”

“But never forget, right?”

“Never forget,” he nods, peering closely at the extractor rod. 

_ You saw me standing alone without a dream in my heart,  _ Billie croons.  _ Without a love of my own. _

They danced to this song at the last Requiem Ball, he remembers. Valkyrie had been involved with a mage named Hiroko at the time, and he had accompanied her. Skulduggery had come stag, and sat with Tanith as she got progressively drunker throughout the evening. 

_ Aren’t you going to dance with her?  _ Tanith said to him, elbowing him in the ribs with more force than she probably meant.

_ Valkyrie’s dancing with Hiroko,  _ Skulduggery said, not taking his eyes off them.

_ Badly,  _ Tanith says sloppily, grinning.  _ He can’t even do a simple two-step. _

This was, unfortunately, true.

_ She’s embarrassed, look at her,  _ Tanith continues, as if Skulduggery isn’t already. Indeed, Valkyrie wore that patient look he associates with her biting her tongue, the tips of her ears red.  _ You’d be doing her a favour,  _ Tanith nodded sagely, and then a burly, broad shouldered man had asked her for a dance. So she had left him sitting there, and-

Well, he had reasoned, he was allowed to ask his partner for a dance.

So he had, and Hiroko had graciously let him take the next song, and Valkyrie had all but sagged into him with palpable relief.

_ Oh, thank God,  _ she said to him.  _ He can’t keep time, I was about to strangle him. Who shows up to the Ball without even taking dancing lessons? _

_ Absolutely unacceptable. I can’t believe you’re considering moving in with him,  _ Skulduggery had said very dryly and absolutely not at all seriously, and Valkyrie made that little gasping laugh he adores into his ear.

Hiroko broke up with her the next day.

He glances up at her again now, and she’s looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“We danced to this song,” she says, and he would blink if he had eyes. “At the last Requiem Ball.”

“Did we?” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “You rescued me from Hiroko, remember?”

Skulduggery considers this as he begins reassembling the gun. “It rings a bell.”

“You know,” she says hesitantly, “he said that was why he broke up with me?”

He locks his bones in place, and makes a noise. “He ended your relationship because I asked you for a dance?”

Her eyes gleam, and he realises his mistake too late. “So you  _ do _ remember.”

“It’s coming back to me,” he allows.

“He said we danced like lovers,” she continues, and Skulduggery’s fingers freeze.

“Is that so?” he says with forced calm. 

“That’s what he said to me,” Valkyrie nods. “Word for word.”

“How strange,” Skulduggery murmurs, turning his attention back to his gun. He’s terrified he’s going to give himself away and ruin everything. He can’t even muster a laugh, no doubt what Valkyrie expects; some jovial reminiscing, a joke about what an idiot Hiroko was, thinking that. All he can think is how much she’s suffered across her life because of his carelessness- that even now, he’s caused her hurt without even realising it.

A long, drawn out silence; he can feel her watching him, and pretends he doesn’t.

“Skulduggery,” she begins, and then cuts herself off.

“Yes, Valkyrie?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m going to order some pizza.”

“Go ahead,” he says, still not looking up as she leaves the room.

-

He has everything they need in his car, so he stays the night in her armchair, and the next morning they make the drive to the  _ bairelle _ village. 

It’s a good several hours from Valkyrie’s home by car, and Valkyrie spends much of it napping, only waking up to demand a rest stop and some coffee. Skulduggery glances over at her every now and then, the gearstick between them an insurmountable barrier. 

It’s about midday when they come to a dense forest where the village should be- the already rough country road they’ve driven on dwindles to a stop in face of such fierce nature.

“Valkyrie,” he says, and she stirs awake. “We’re here.”

She rubs her eyes and looks out the dashboard window. “God forbid they have a nice main street, we can just drive down” she mutters. Skulduggery pulls the hag stone from beneath his shirt and holds it to his eye socket, just in case the forest is illusory; when the trees remain, he hums.

“It seems we’re walking,” he says, and Valkyrie grumbles as she flings the car door open.

It’s quiet out here in a way only the countryside can be quiet- a distinct lack of human life. The silence would be oppressive if it weren’t filled by the soft breeze, by whispering grass and bird song.

As they pass into the shadow dappled forest, Skulduggery’s bones begin aching, and the hag stone grows warm. The trees are obviously the product of magical intervention, oak trees stretching hundreds and hundreds of feet tall. Valkyrie’s eyes flip into that silver gleam, and she makes a noise of discomfort, quickly returning to normal sight.

“I’ll have a headache if I try to make sense of that,” she says. “It’s like looking through a kaleidoscope.”

“Pretty?”

“Disorientating. Everything in this forest is soaked with magic.”

“I suppose you’ll have to rely on good old fashioned deduction,” Skulduggery says. 

“How am I supposed to do that?” Valkyrie says, grinning. “I didn’t learn from the best, unfortunately.”

Skulduggery ignores this slight against him. “Well, for example, if we see someone and they have wings and a flower crown, they’re probably a fairy.”

“Or someone feeling their bog witch fantasy,” Valkyrie says. 

“In a magical forest in the middle of nowhere?” Skulduggery asks sceptically.

“Hey, no judgement here. I’ve indulged in a harmless fantasy every now and then.”

“Is that so?” Skulduggery says, and even as he says this he’s aware of how it sounds and is recklessly unable to stop himself. “Like what, exactly?”

Valkyrie glances at him, and bites her lip. If he had a throat, it’d be dry, and she gives him a crooked grin.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” she says, and God, he doesn’t know what to say to that, voice catching in his teeth, but the need for a response is blessedly sidelined by the fact they’re suddenly in a cosy little town that wouldn’t be out of place in a postcard.

“Woah,” Valduggery says, blinking. Skulduggery takes a single step back, and he’s suddenly in the forest again by himself; a step forward, and he’s beside her again, on the edge of town.

“I thought the hag stones could see through illusions?” Valkyrie says, holding it up.

“The forest was very real,” Skulduggery says, bones aching fiercely. “And so is this village.”

Valkyrie sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I hate spatial magic.”

“So do I,” he says severely. He feels like his joints are about to disconnect. “And the fae, unfortunately, are known for it.”

They begin walking into town. People pass them, and look at them curiously- particularly Skulduggery, whose facade melted away the moment they passed into this little pocket of space. An expression of fear is present on more faces than not, and this is as troubling as it is indicative they might be on the right track.

“The fae are theorised to be the reason we have Teleporters and Shunters,” he tells Valkyrie as they walk, who looks surprised. “And magic like Cadaverous Grant’s, come to think of it. Magic interfering with space on that level is beyond our natural means.”

“Please don’t ever tell Fletcher he has a super duper great grandpa who was a fairy or something,” Valkyrie says. “He’d probably go all  _ Labrinth  _ on us and start wearing really tight silver bodysuits.”

“Have you noticed how markedly unhostile these people are?” Skulduggery murmurs.

“Afraid, though,” Valkyrie says, and lightly loops her arm through his as a young couple shepherds their child away from them. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“The streets seem to be laid out in concentric rings,” he says. 

“Obviously,” she says.

“Logically, the town centre will be in the middle, where it belongs,” he continues. “I assume they have some sort of law enforcement, and by extension, an office.”

“Do you think they’re going to heed an Arbiter’s badge?” Valkyrie muses.

“I think they’ll heed  _ me,”  _ he says, and she grins.

The town itself is very picture perfect, nicely planned out. It radiates the opposite energy that Roarhaven did before its renovation, and if it weren’t for the magic making him feel sick, he’d probably throw up anyway from how cute it all looks. An actual picket fence here, a nicely manicured hedge there…

“Looks like that town in  _ Edward Scissorhands,”  _ Valkyrie comments. “Do you reckon it’s all some big front? Like they’re sacrificing the virgins out the back and having a potluck in the front?”

“Maybe,” Skulduggery replies, watching an honest to God child help an old woman across the street, even though there aren’t any cars. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie says. “Cute, though.”

They round a corner and come into the town center; it’s again, lovely, but small; a single large green grocers and some assorted stores. In the center is what must be the town hall.

“Bingo,” Valkyrie says, and they cross the square. Skulduggery can feel every single person watching them as they pass, but he isn’t particularly concerned as Valkyrie pushes the door open. 

Between the two of them, there’s nothing they can’t handle, really.

“After you,” she says, waving a gallant hand, and he chuckles as he steps in.

A receptionist looks up to greet them from a desk nearby, and his smile turns to caution.

“Hello,” Valkyrie says brightly. “We were hoping to speak to whoever enforces the law in this place.”

“Um,” the receptionist says. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Valkyrie says, twirling some hair around her finger, and Skulduggery would roll his eyes if he had them. “But we’ve come an  _ awful _ long way.”

The receptionist glances up at Skulduggery, and then back to her. “What for?”

“We’re Arbiters working a case,” Valkyrie says with a smile, and presents her badge. The receptionist sags in relief.

“Oh, thank God,” he says. “Why didn’t you say so? I thought you were maybe with that lunatic from last month- I’ll see if Geoff has finished his lunch break, hang on.”

He gets up from behind his desk and disappears down the hall. 

“That was quite a show,” Skulduggery says, leaning against the counter.

“He looked a bit simple,” Valkyrie shrugs. “Besides, didn’t you notice him reaching for that button under his desk? Poor lad was about to jump out of his skin.”

“I’d wager our arrival set off every ward in this place,” Skulduggery says. “I’m somewhat surprised we weren’t pulled aside immediately.”

“Somewhat surprised?”

Skulduggery shrugs as the receptionist comes back down the hall, accompanied by a stout looking man with a handlebar moustache that could maybe be used as an actual handlebar. “I get the feeling they don’t get visitors very often,” he says to her quietly.

“I’m Geoff River,” the stout man says, again in that strange accent, and extends his hand. “What do you folks go by?”

“Skulduggery Pleasant,” Skulduggery says. “This is my partner, Valkyrie Cain.”

“You may have heard of us,” Valkyrie adds, her smile more rueful than bright.

Geoff pauses, and nods. His expression is- not hard, but wary. “I’m familiar with the both of you. Shall we continue this chat in my office?”

“Lead the way,” Skulduggery says, and they follow him down the hall and around a corner. It’s shockingly banal- like an actual town hall in a rural county. His office is filled with photos of family and friends, and a fishing rod sits in the corner. It’s all very bizarre.

“Please, sit down,” Geoff says, and they both take a seat. “Alex says you’re Arbiters. What brings you all the way out here? And how did you find out about us?”

“We’re not here as Arbiters, officially,” Skulduggery says. “Misery Ni Broin, the leader of the eastern coven sent us here. We’re handling a private case for a client of ours.  _ Bairelle _ like yourself.”

“Her home was robbed recently by a man named Gan Athair,” Valkyrie says. “Are you familiar with the name?”

Geoff drums his fingers on his desk, and sits forward in his chair. “Your client,” he says. “Wouldn’t happen to go by Mellifluous, would they?”

Valkyrie glances at Skulduggery. 

“Yes,” he says, watching the man’s face closely, and Geoff’s expression turns both sour and regretful. Skulduggery pulls out a copy of the sketch of Athair from his coat, and shows it to Geoff, who grimaces. 

“Yeah,” Geoff says shortly. “I guess I am familiar with the guy.”

“How so?”

“He and this old woman came through town a month ago. Gave us the shock of our lives, I tell you what- we haven’t had any outsiders come through for a good decade or so now,” Geoff says, interlacing his fingers. “They were real on edge.”

“On edge?” Valkyrie says. 

“Well, I think they were both under the impression they were going to find some sort of fae cult,” Geoff explains, and grins a little. “We may be  _ bairelle,  _ but most of us don’t even practice magic. We like being left alone, and I reckon most mages are happy to forget we even exist, to be honest.

“Anyway, they were asking the damndest things,” Geoff continues, sitting back in his chair. “Asking us about fae stuff you’d have to go dig in our libraries for, since most of it is so irrelevant to us folks these days. This- what was his name, Athair?- He broke into the town hall and ransacked our archives.”

“Did he take anything?” Skulduggery asks.

“He took a record we keep of  _ bairelle _ living outside our town,” Geoff says. “We largely use it to keep track of our own, what we’re up to, and the like. We’re largely harmless, but every now and then, someone will use their heritage to get up to mischief and fine folk like yourself will come around. Helps to have some records on hand for that sort of stuff. He didn’t even take the whole box, though,” Geoff adds. “Just one person’s record. I had to check our digital archives to confirm it was missing.”

“Mellifluous,” Skulduggery murmurs.

“Yep,” Geoff says, and pauses. “She was robbed, you say? Is she alright?”

“She was uninjured, luckily,” Skulduggery says. “But eager to bring the thief to justice.”

“Can you tell us anymore about Athair?” Valkyrie asks.

Geoff grunts. “Not much beyond his crimes. We were under the impression he was being held at Greymire for the massacre.”

“Greymire was dissolved,” Skulduggery informs him. “But he should have been transferred to some sort of institution. It seems someone sprung him.”

“You said there was an old woman?” Valkyrie asks. “And what was Athair asking around about specifically?”

Geoff nods. “I can’t tell you much about her,” he admits. “She didn’t say anything, according to people I asked. “Just followed him around. She was magic, at least. Maybe actually fae but I couldn’t be certain.” He pauses. “As for what Athair was asking about- he was asking about the fae Courts, and the Sealing.”

“The Sealing?” Valkyrie asks.

“When iron became widespread, the fae had to decide whether they wanted to leave, or return home,” Geoff says. 

“Home?” Skulduggery asks.

Geoff pauses. “The fae aren’t of our dimension,” he says. “Didn’t you know this?”

“No,” Skulduggery says reluctantly. 

“Well, there you go,” Geoff shrugs. “A few stubborn fae refused to give up their little kingdoms, but by and large, fae folk decided to return to their own reality. The Queen made the decision to forever close the gate they originally passed through- leaving those stubborn few stranded. We call it the Sealing, for obvious reasons. Athair wanted more information on the specifics of how the Queen did this. While she had to stay on our side of the gate to do it, she passed away some time ago.”

Valkyrie glances at Skulduggery, and he’s certain she’s having the same thought; whatever information Athair was looking for, Mellifluous must have once trapped it in metal.

“Athair must have left after he broke in,” Geoff says. “We didn’t see him or the old woman after that.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Valkyrie asks. “Anything at all, no matter how small.”

Geoff rubs his chin. “I don’t know how significant this is- it sounds silly, but something about it gives me the shivers.”

“Go on,” Valkyrie says.

“The day after he ransacked the archives,” Geoff says. “Every single person in town woke up missing the exact same tooth.”

-

As they drive back into Dublin, Valkyrie puts a hand on his arm. “I’m meant to visit Alice tonight,” she says quietly, and Skulduggery’s already making the turn off to get them there.

“I know,” he says, just as quietly. “It’s Tuesday. You always visit her on a Tuesday.”

“Right,” she nods. “I think the routine helps her remember, you know?” She laughs, and it’s a sad sound. “Well, that’s what I tell myself anyway.”

Valkyrie doesn’t talk about Alice much. Skulduggery knows her well enough to know it’s a terrible mixture of guilt, pity, and love that keeps her going every Tuesday evening without fail to visit her mortal sister.

“Sometimes I think maybe I should have taken you up on Fletcher’s offer to get her enrolled part time at Corrival,” Valkyrie says apropos of nothing. “Maybe- if she had, then-”

She falls into silence. Skulduggery places his hand over hers, and she squeezes tight.

“The things I’ve done to my family,” she murmurs. “The lying, Carol, Colorado…”

Valkyrie went to therapy, a long time ago, for quite a few years, to work through all of this in a way she couldn’t by herself, or with family. Or with him. But Skulduggery is uniquely qualified to understand that some things are just to be carried with you, for the rest of your life.

So he says nothing, as they drive to the retirement home. He just holds her hand back as tightly as he can. 

When they pull up out the front, he says, “Would you like me to come in with you?”

“It’s okay,” she says. “But- can you come over, after? Just for company, like. I’ll meet you at mine-”

“No,” he says. “I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll be at least an hour,” she says.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats quietly.

(They’re still holding hands.)

“Well- alright,” she says, a little helplessly, and gets out of the car. She pauses, and then turns back and says through the window, “You’re a real goon, you know that?”

“I’ve been told once or twice by a reliable source,” he nods, relieved to see her smiling, and watches her walk into the building.

-

He drives her back to her house once again, and sits at her table and watches her potter about the kitchen as she makes dinner.

She’s still quiet, but she smiles at him, and complains about soy sauce getting on her shirt, and she burns her rice. So it isn’t too bad.

Skulduggery is used to being a skeleton, obviously. He’s very much accepted it. But there are times he fiercely longs for a real body again, and as Valkyrie sits across from him, eating her terrible burnt rice and soggy stir fry, his bones ache in a very different way than they did in that village. To be able to share in those little intimacies, of breaking bread with her-

“So are we gonna talk about how lame that village was?” Valkyrie asks. “Misery makes this big fuss about how foreboding they are, and we get this sanitised little town from the 60’s instead.”

“I suspect Misery hasn’t forgotten my… less than tactful entry into her home all those years ago,” Skulduggery says. “A little joke as revenge, perhaps.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Valkyrie says a little darkly. “She seemed pretty taken with you.”

“Apologies for drawing away your well deserved attention,” Skulduggery says dryly, surprised she’s even bringing it up. “I know you hate to share the spotlight.”

“Hmm,” Valkyrie says noncommittally, and pushes her food around in her bowl. “Have you ever, y’know. Thought about it? Dating again, I mean.”

Skulduggery shifts in his seat, and he knows she doesn’t miss it and he curses himself for it. “I don’t have the greatest track record,” he settles for. “And I highly doubt anyone is interested in a literal bag of bones.”

“You’re not a bag of bones,” Valkyrie says. “I’ve never seen you in a  _ bag.  _ And obviously people are, I’m not blind.”

“But you  _ are _ dumb,” Skulduggery wheedles, desperate to change the topic of conversation. She doesn’t rise to the bait, ignoring him as she ticks off her fingers.

“China, Abyssinia, that woman at the last ball, Misery-”

“What woman?” Skulduggery says, despite himself.

“Oh, as if you don’t remember her,” Valkyrie says. “She wouldn’t leave you alone the entire night, she kept coming up to you whenever I was with Hiroko.”

Skulduggery stares at her. “She was coming up to me to ask about  _ you,” _ he says, and Valkyrie blinks. “She was desperate, actually. I was concerned you had a stalker.”

“Well then,” Valkyrie says. “Huh.”

“And you seem to have a grand total of three people,” Skulduggery says. “Two of whom committed major crimes and personally wronged me. May I refer you to my earlier statement about my track record?”

“Fine,” Valkyrie says, throwing her hands up, and suddenly- the atmosphere is  _ tense,  _ and Skulduggery’s on edge and he can’t just attribute it to Valkyrie’s meddling, does she really think he wants to  _ date?  _ The thought of sitting across from someone in a dimly lit restaurant making small talk and it not being  _ her, _ he wants to- God, he doesn’t even know-

(He wants to break the table, he wants to take her by the shoulders and shake sense into her, he wants to make her understand that when he said until the end, he  _ meant it _ and there’s no other person, there will  _ never _ be another person, he wants he wants he  _ wants-) _

Valkyrie drags a hand down her face, and then laughs. “God, I sound like an asshole. Sorry.”

“You can’t help it,” he says graciously. 

And she snorts, and tells him he’s an idiot, and everything is fine again.

But as he sits in that armchair again, dozing off into a state he could call sleep, he thinks of her, her,  _ her. _

-

Valkyrie is wearing her go-to case clothes- practical trousers and a turtleneck jumper beneath the jacket he had made for her last decade. All in black, of course. Skulduggery is wearing the spare suit he keeps in his trunk, but it’s a little flashier than his preferred suits, and he isn’t quite sure if he’s sold on it.

“I think it looks good,” Valkyrie tells him as they get out of the car.

“I’m of two minds about the fabric,” Skulduggery tells her, putting his hat on.  “A little late now,” she points out. “Maybe you’ll throw this Athair guy off with all the color.”

“It’s not  _ that  _ much color,” he says. “Just a little pop.”

“My goodness,” Mellifluous says from the door. “What a remarkable suit!”

“See?” Valkyrie says. “Told you it looks good.”

“I should never have let you convince me to buy this,” Skulduggery sighs, straightening his cuffs. 

“It’s quite a statement,” Mellifluous tells him as she lets them in. “But I’m a sucker for florals regardless of the occasion. Are you going out to a party of some kind after this?” 

“Perhaps there’s still time for me to return home and change,” Skulduggery says, and Valkyrie loops her arm through his, trapping him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she tells him, clearly delighted as they follow Mellifluous through the spiral halls. “You’ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.” 

“After I open the ring and let you through, I’ll keep it open for a good minute,” Mellifluous tells them. “Just in case something nasty is waiting for you on the other side.”

“Optimistic,” Valkyrie nods. “I like it. How will you know when we want to come back?”

“I’ll know,” she says simply. 

“Right,” Valkyrie says, nodding. “Of course.”

“Or, if this ring doesn’t lead into another dimension, you could just give me a call,” Mellifluous suggests, and Skulduggery laughs while Valkyrie looks faintly embarrassed. They come into the ring-room, and there it is again- that sense of intense liminality. 

“Now’s the time to check you haven’t left anything important in the car,” Mellifluous advises them. “Like your keys, or a gun.”

Valkyrie pats her leg where the pistol is holstered. “All good.”

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Skulduggery assures her, and Mellifluous kneels down next to the ring. Skulduggery pulls out one of his revolvers, and Valkyrie’s fingers snap and crackle with careful energy as Mellifluous reaches out and touches one of those great, awful rotting mushrooms.

Nothing happens.

“Step through,” Mellifluous advises them, and Skulduggery, shrugging, complies. The moment the tip of his shoe lands in the ring, he’s struck with double vision; of Mellifluous’s house, and a grotty little attic filled with tall, sheet covered piles. 

“Keep going,” Mellifluous says, and her voice is warbly; he steps out of the ring and he’s in the little attic properly. Valkyrie comes through a second later and it’s strange watching her before she joins him outside of the ring; overlaid against reality, both transparent and impossibly solid.

“Weird,” she says. Skulduggery pulls out his phone and sends a text to Mellifluous. 

_ Testing. _

He receives a thumbs up after a minute, and he puts the phone away, satisfied they’re still in their dimension.

“Whoever lives here is a mage,” Valkyrie whispers, her eyes shining white. “A strong one. Or maybe fae- I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Not too strong for a bullet, I’m sure,” Skulduggery replies in a low voice, leading point- revolver first. A touch of the air currents reveals the house is empty, but the hag stone is warm against his sternum. He reaches out to her and she lets him wrap an arm around her waist, lifting them both above the wooden floorboards to avoid ill-timed creaking. They slowly hover down the stairs like this, her body pressed against his, and if Skulduggery weren’t a consummate professional he’d be very distracted.

He takes mental note of everything as he goes; of the lack of dust, of the lack of furniture. They touch down on the second landing and Valkyrie glances around, surveying the layout. Two doors, a window and another set of stairs leading downwards. They clear both rooms (one is empty, save for a single, grotty looking bed, the other a bathroom in sore need of cleaning) and then carefully peer out the window. A nondescript countryside glenn greets them, devoid of landmarks. 

“Not much going on here, is there?” Valkyrie whispers to him as he gathers her against his waist once more and takes them down to the ground level.

An open plan living room and kitchen, devoid of anything worth noting besides another fairy ring. They turn the corner into the hallway, and are met with a musty smell that could only be coming from the cupboard under the stairs.

Skulduggery counts down with his fingers, and Valkyrie readies her pistol. He opens it, and when nothing besides a fetid odor emerges, opens it all the way.

Valkyrie gags. The entire cupboard is overrun by those same bloody teeth, thick mushrooms that look dense and heavy enough to constitute a weapon. They gather around a small space that looks distinctly person shaped.

“What is going  _ on _ here?” Valkyrie says to him, and Skulduggery hums. 

“Let’s do some ransacking,” he suggests. They open every drawer and door in the place, and turn up very little; some cutlery, a newspaper several weeks old. The food in the fridge is on the cusp of turning, and Valkyrie wrinkles her nose at the smell.

They go back up to the first floor, and Skulduggery carefully lifts the mattress off its frame with a gentle flick of his hand to reveal absolutely nothing.

“Tidiest thieves ever,” Valkyrie grumbles, and they make their way into the attic, full of those covered piles. “Where do you think they are?”

“Hopefully interviewing a cleaner for that bathroom,” Skulduggery says and pulls the sheet off whatever is beneath it.

Books. Just lots of books.

“This is turning into a dead end,” Valkyrie says.

“Not so fast,” Skulduggery says, and pulls out the hag stone from where it rests on his sternum. He raises it to his eye socket, and peers through the hole to see-

“They’re gears,” he tells her, and she takes out her own stone to try.

“Huh,” Valkyrie says, as they behold the large pile of metal gears together. “Well, this got a lot easier.”

“Hmm,” Skulduggery says, as they pull the rest of the sheets off; the gears are haphazardly stacked, but there are an awful lot of them. At least seven hundred. The final sheet however is covering what looks like a modified record player; a gear is slotted neatly into it, but there’s no needle to lower.

“Interesting,” Skulduggery says. “It must require some sort of magic to operate- maybe if I-”

Valkyrie presses the ‘ON’ button, and a recorded voice begins to play.

“Well,” he says, crossing his arms. “That works too.”

_ “-Don’t trust humans,”  _ a voice says in old,  _ old _ Gaelic, high and melodic and painful somehow; like the reverberations of crystal.  _ “But I am bound by my own laws. A deal is a deal. Hear me well, Mellifluous, for what I tell you is a secret of great power. _

_ “Up in the Bangor mountains to the west, there is a ring of stones thicker than a man and taller than a tree. These stones have lived longer than me, and will live longer yet. Once a month, as the moon waxes full, they fill with the old magic, regardless of my efforts. This secret I bequeath to you is my greatest; the last surviving gateway to the Fae.” _

“What did she say?” Valkyrie asks him.

“You really need to work on your Gaelic,” he tells her, but summarises it for her.

“Alright,” she nods once he finishes it. “So, Athair wants to open the gate.”

“Stellar deduction.”

“The moon has to be full though, right? So he can’t open it yet.”

“Ideally.”

“Hm,” Valkyrie says, picking up the gear on top of the pile next to the record player and examining it. “Well, he isn’t here for us to shake down. What now?”

“I propose we go through the other ring and see where it leads us,” Skulduggery says. “Mellifluous will have to open it for us, though. Excuse me.”

He pulls out his phone and rings her. She picks up immediately.

“Mellifluous,” he says, “Can you come through the ring? We’ve found another ring.”

“ _ -can’t… you… out,”  _ She says, voice cut through with static. Magical interference, Skulduggery surmises.

“Hold on,” he says, and goes down the stairs into the ground level and activates his facade before stepping out into the backyard, which is badly overgrown. “Can you hear me?”

_ “Much better,”  _ she says.  _ “Where are you?” _

“Still Ireland,” he replies. “We came out in an empty house, but there’s another ring.”

_ “Give me a few minutes,”  _ she says.  _ “I’m just in the middle of a coffee.” _

“I thought you were going to be on standby,” Skulduggery says.

_ “Are you about to die?”  _

“Well, no-”

_ “Then I’ll be there in a few minutes,”  _ she says, and disconnects the call before he can say anything else.

“Well, that was rude,” he says to no-one in particular and returns inside. 

A man’s voice upstairs, talking, and all he can think is-  _ Valkyrie.  _ He reads the air and all he can feel is her, but that means very little; he quickly but carefully hovers up the stairs, gun drawn, but before he can ascend the final flight of stairs, he realises- that voice is familiar, deep and smooth, and-

Oh. Oh,  _ no,  _ no no no  _ no- _

Before he can weigh up his options, he’s already coming through the door, and Valkyrie is kneeling in front of that record player, mouth open, listening to his voice on a loop.

_ “I am in love with Valkyrie Cain,”  _ he hears himself say, soft and rough, and there’s a few seconds before he says it again, and again, and Valkyrie turns to look at him, but he’s calmly striding past her, watching as he lifts the gear from the record player.

_ “I am in l-” _ his voice says, cutting off as he wraps his fingers in fire and melts the gear into a puddle of shimmering liquid.

She’s staring at him. Skulduggery wonders if he lights himself on fire as well whether or not it would kill him. No, self-immolation isn’t going to get him out of this, and so he does what he’s always done well; he slams his walls down.

“Mellifluous will be through in a moment,” he says flatly, and she’s scrambling to her feet. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“Skulduggery-” she says, and before he can cut her off, tell her it was a lie, or that it’s okay, he knows she’ll never feel the same way, he walks out, and down the stairs.

His head is singularly empty. If he allows himself the luxury of a thought, it will be 

the end of him, and so he goes and stands in front of the fairy ring and tucks away every piece of himself until he can put on some sort of professional air and get this job done so he can- he doesn’t even know what. Do something, presumably. He idly opens the fridge to marvel at the off milk and then- a thought. A useful one. And blessedly unrelated to the breakdown of the most important relationship of his life.

He takes out the hag stone, and brings it up to his eye socket, and it’s no longer food in the fridge. 

It’s jars upon jars of teeth.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i just needed to finish this fic otherwise i never would. it's not as good as i wanted it to be but sometimes u just gotta finish stuff. apologies, god speed and thanks for sticking around!!!

“What an awful little house,” Mellifluous says, coming through the doorway, Valkyrie trailing after her. “It stinks in here”

“I think it’s best you come with us,” Skulduggery tells her, as if Valkyrie isn’t even there. “It’ll likely be safer than waiting in here alone.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Mellifluous asks.

“The fridge is full of teeth,” Skulduggery says.

“What?” Valkyrie says, bewildered.

“Hag stone,” is all he can say to her, and she fumbles for it, peering through the hole and recoiling in disgust.

Mellifluous looks a little more than mildly disturbed, which is quite fair. “I suppose my afternoon nap can wait. Shall I open the ring?”

“Absolutely,” Skulduggery says, avoiding Valkyrie’s gaze, and the moment Mellifluous’s finger touches the mushrooms, he all but flees through it.

When he steps out, and he finds himself in a lush forest clearing. The sun, just beginning its downward slope, softly dapples through the trees.

Valkyrie and Mellifluous step through after him.

“Nice picnic spot,” Valkyrie comments, and Skulduggery grunts. His bones aren’t aching, but he doesn’t feel exactly  _ right, _ either. Like his joints are thrumming, a buzz at the base of his skull.

“Something is here,” Mellifluous murmurs. “Something of the old world.”

“Stay close to me,” Skulduggery orders, and leads them carefully through the forest. The air currents are soft, and he twines them about his fingers, reaches out into the world and listens to what they tell him. They’re high above sea level, on a mountain top- the Bangor Mountains, he surmises- and there’s a clearing ahead of them, filled with obstructions, two of which are moving.

They come to the edge of this clearing, and Skulduggery holds up a closed fist; Valkyrie and Mellifluous come to a halt behind him. Valkyrie’s shoulder brushes against him and he shifts away, ignoring her hurt look. 

Focus.  _ Focus. _

A ring of stones fills the clearing. All assorted sizes and colors, the only commonality is their composition. Rocks in the loosest sense, he thinks, because they look organic. Fungal, larval, something that tugs at his memory. He’s seen something like this before.

In the middle of the ring, a slim man is sitting cross-legged, eyes shut. An old woman stands behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

“Gan,” Mellifluous says softly.

“Have you ever seen that woman before?” Skulduggery asks in a low tone, hand on his gun.

She shakes her head. “I have no idea who she is.”

Valkyrie is watching the clearing with silver eyes. “This entire area stinks of magic. It could be a trap.”

“Let’s see what they’re doing,” Skulduggery murmurs. Something about the way the woman’s hand sits on Athair’s shoulder has him thinking. Athair seems almost in a trance, face furrowed in concentration. He’s gaunt, fragile. The old woman, meanwhile, looks… hungry. Looks not quite right, and Skulduggery realises it’s the hands. Too big for the rest of her shrivelled body, too-long fingers and sharp taloned nails.

“ _ You are so close,”  _ the woman says calmly in old, old Gaelic. The sound carries oddly easily across the clearing.  _ “Can you feel it? It calls to you, like it calls to me.” _

_ _ “I can’t concentrate when you keep talking,” Athair snaps without opening his eyes. “And I told you to stop speaking that dialect, I can barely understand you.”

She ignores him.  _ “All the power I took for you- is it not enough?” _

_ _ “It’s not a matter of enough,” he says, opening his eyes to glare up at her. “Those  _ bairelle _ didn’t even practice magic, they had no connection with their heritage! You’d have been better off giving me  _ your _ teeth.”

She smiles down at him, and he feels both Mellifluous and Valkyrie grimace next to him. Her mouth is rotting, like-

Like  _ Hydnellum Peckii.  _

“ _ My teeth would kill you,”  _ she says. 

“Look, the recording said we needed a full moon,” Athair says, ignoring this. “Why don’t we just wait until tomorrow night-”

_ “I have waited millenia,”  _ she hisses, and Athair cries out as her fingers tighten on his shoulder.  _ “I will not wait any longer. You  _ will _ open the gate.” _

_ _ “Alright, alright!” Athair says, and her hand relaxes. “But you need to stop interrupting me! Shunting is hard enough even with a living Isthmus Anchor.”

“I thought Athair was an Elemental?” Valkyrie murmurs.

“Magically ambidextrous,” Mellifluous says. “It wasn’t something he advertised.”

“This changes things. We need to stop them before they open that portal,” Skulduggery says. “Mellifluous, are you any good in a fight?”

“I can fend for myself, but it’s not exactly my wheelhouse.”

“Stay here. Valkyrie, you-” Skulduggery starts to say, but then the woman raises her gaze. 

_ “You have four names,”  _ she says to Skulduggery.  _ “Perhaps  _ your _ teeth will do.” _

And before he can respond, raise his gun-

She reaches out. Her hand, outstretched, somehow both in front of her, nearly

thirty metres away, and yet in his skull, in his  _ mouth,  _ jittering through reality unfazed. He jerks his head back as every bone in his body vibrates and startles with a fierce ache as she plucks a canine tooth from the top of his jaw. And then, her hand is only in front of her again.

Startled, Athair moves to stand up but her hand on his shoulder is clearly not a

display of affection, he ricochets back to the ground.

“Skulduggery,” Valkyrie says, eyes flickering with silver lightning. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he says, rubbing his jaw, greatly perturbed. The woman has turned away, as if she has already forgotten about them. Athair, though, stares at them.

“Mellifluous?” he says in delight. “Is that you?”

Mellifluous shrinks back besides Valkyrie, whose body is trembling with static. 

_ “Ignore them,”  _ the old woman says impatiently, and offers him Skulduggery’s tooth. He can feel it in those too-long fingers, cold as ice. “ _ Open the gate.” _

_ _ “I’ll distract her,” Skulduggery says to Valkyrie, without looking at her. “You take him out.”

Before she can respond, he kicks back all the air he can behind him and shoots through the ring of stones, crashing right into the old woman and sending all three of them both sprawling into the ground.

_ “Ruinneadair!”  _ Athair shouts, and Skulduggery is too busy trying to figure out where the old woman has gone to have an  _ a ha  _ moment but- Collector? That makes a lot of sense, actually-

The woman grabs him by the lapels with unnatural speed and strength, and throws him against one of the ring-stones. His skull connects with the strange not-rock and he sees white. But it’s from Valkyrie’s lightning as she attempts to fry Athair, who dives to the side and throws blue fire back at her. 

Ruinneadair, meanwhile, is already walking away from him, back towards Athair and Valkyrie. Valkyrie is winning the skirmish without even drawing her gun and he knows with certainty that Ruinneadair joining the fight means the end of it; he sends ice shards hurtling towards her, but then there’s that ache in his bones and the tooth in her hand, and the ice turns to water, his magic wrenched from him.

_ “How amusing you are,”  _ she says, turning back to look at him.  _ “Maybe I will take you with us. I have not been amused for a long time.” _

_ _ “I’m flattered,” he says. “But I quite like it here, if I’m being honest.”

_ “I would know if you were not,”  _ she tells him.  _ “I hold you in the palm of my hand.” _

_ _ _ “And you didn’t even ask me to dinner first,” _ he says, standing up and brushing his cuffs free of dirt. She watches him in what he would describe as polite interest, if she had any notion of manners, as he draws his gun and its iron bullets. 

_ “Your little toys can not harm me,”  _ she warns him.

“I beg to differ,” he replies, and shoots her in the shoulder. Her scream is like nothing he has ever heard; like glass nails down a glass chalkboard, and Athair and Valkyrie both double over in pain, the fight halted.

“There’s more where that comes from,” he advises Ruinneadair, who is curled in on herself, keening. 

_ “To me,”  _ Ruinneadair croaks, reaching out to Athair- who is suddenly by her side, and not of his own volition. Skulduggery’s bones begin to ache again, and he sees his tooth in Athair’s hand, radiant with light.

_ “Open it! _ ” Ruinneadair commands Athair. His eyes close, and their outlines begin to blur. But Skulduggery and Valkyrie both leap forward, hands outstretched, and-

They shunt. Worlds flicker around them, and suddenly, Skulduggery hits the ground  _ hard. _

_ _ For a moment, he just lies there, alone, feeling sorry for himself. This case has  _ not _ gone how he wanted, or even expected it, to go. But Valkyrie isn’t with him, which means she’s probably in danger, which is unacceptable. So he gets up.

He appears to still be on Earth.  _ A _ Earth, at least. But something is grotesquely wrong, and now he understands where he saw the odd not-rock before.

A nest. He’s in a nest. Not a nice nest, of straw and feathers and cute little birds. A nest that buzzes, a nest full of fat bugs the size of his torso, with pale skin covered in eyes and wings and stingers.

Skulduggery stays very still. None of the bugs seem too bothered by him, but then, he has no flesh to burrow into, no skin to hide beneath, no meat to pierce. The nest is huge, and he has a terrible feeling that it stretches through the forest. He can’t hear anyone else, see any evidence of Valkyrie. Closing his eyes, he hooks his fingers into the air.

The mountain is full of them, but there are pockets of natural forest, devoid of life; not too far from here, someone stirs in one.

He starts walking in that direction, careful not to disturb any of the bugs. He remembers Susie and her placid expression, fragile limbs, all too well. They had tried to forget about this place, this out-of-phase dimension. Unable to reach it again, unable to investigate, unable to retrieve Susie’s body- life had gone on.

Now, he wonders if that tall, alien figure is still there, in that theatre. A warning had been put out to Shunters at the time, but there are always Neoterics, and there are always fools. He isn’t sure whether it’s better the figure be gone, or still here. Hopefully, they don’t have to find out.

(In the stillness, he notices his chest is uncomfortably warm; the hagstone burns against his bones.)

The nest ends abruptly, spitting him out into a patch of dead forest. A skeleton lays in the clearing, and next to the skeleton, lays Athair.

Skulduggery raises his revolver as Athair looks up and sees him.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories,” Skulduggery says in a calm, quiet voice that doesn’t betray the fact he wants to hurl Athair into the nest if only to relieve some of his anger at himself. “You and I both know I will shoot you without a second thought.”

“You can’t get back without me,” Athair says.

“I’ll find a way,” Skulduggery says smoothly; Athair doesn’t need to know the full extent of Valkyrie’s powers. “Have you seen my partner?”

Athair shakes his head. “No, I don’t know what happened- where  _ are _ we?” He asks. “This isn’t how she described it- it’s meant to be beautiful-”

“This place is many things,” Skulduggery says. “Beautiful isn’t one of them. Get up.”

“Or what?” Athair says with a laugh. “You’ll kill me?”

“Better I do it than the things out there,” Skulduggery tells him, and that makes Athair’s mouth thin. “You’re going to tell me about the Tooth Fairy.”

Athair looks almost impressed. “You’re as sharp as they say.”

“Sharper, even,” Skulduggery says, thumbing back the revolver’s hammer. “Start talking.”

“Ruinneadair wants what I want,” Athair says, standing up. “To come home.”

“Why didn’t she leave during the Sealing, then?” Skulduggery asks, keeping the gun trained on him. 

“No idea,” Athair shrugs. “She doesn’t talk about it much. I don’t really care, either. It’s more of a business transaction than a friendship, let's put it that way.”

“Of course,” Skulduggery says, and then holds out his hand. “I believe you have something of mine.”

Athair looks confused for a moment, and then laughs, holding up Skulduggery’s tooth. “Oh, you mean this?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Athair tosses it to him, and as Skulduggery tucks it neatly inside his chest pocket to be reattached at a later date, thunder cracks across the mountain.

Valkyrie.

He leaves Athair there, launching soundlessly up into the air and surveying the mountain. What he sees is horrifying; an endless nest, stretched far across the horizon, dotted here and there with dead, empty bits of forest. But before he can consider the implications of this, lightning cracks out from the horrible fungal cocoon and he follows its source, hurtling through the sky and crashing through webbed foliage, bugs rousing in anger and surprise as he lands with the force of a meteor.

Valkyrie is grappling with Ruinneadair, teeth bared and eyes silver, magic incinerating the bloated bugs trying to get close to them. Ruinneadair is laughing as Valkyrie tries to subdue her with lightning that keeps diverting like a reflection in water. Valkyrie’s holster is empty and buzzing surrounds them, thick and furious, a storm cloud swarm of bugs gathering around them.

_ “Finally,”  _ Ruinneadair cries, slapping Valkyrie’s fist away and sending her flying into what might have once been a tree.  _ “Finally, I’m home!” _

_ _ “She won’t shut up,” Valkyrie roars in anger. “And I can’t- fucking-  _ hit her!” _

He holds up a hand, both to quell Valkyrie and hold the air strong and protective around her, turning to Ruinneadair.  _ “This is your home?”  _ He asks in that same, old Gaelic.

_ “Can’t you feel it?”  _ she says, turning to him in delight. Without Valkyrie’s magic fending them off, several bugs come and settle on Ruinneadair’s shoulders- but they don’t sting her. Like bees when they beard, he thinks.  _ “How I have longed for this day.” _

_ _ _ “This is your home,” _ he says slowly.  _ “You’re the Queen, aren’t you?” _

_ _ Valkyrie is vibrating next to him, face uncomprehending, but he doesn’t stop to clarify, intent on Ruinneadair’s expression. 

_ “Yes,”  _ she sighs.  _ “Yes. And now, I am home.” _

_ _ _ “What about Athair? This is not his home.” _

_ _ _ “Of course it is,”  _ she says, stroking one of the bugs.  _ “He is one of my subjects. He will help me rebuild, regrow.” _

_ _ “Skulduggery,” Valkyrie hisses. “For fuck’s sake, what’s going on?”

“Wait,” he says, watching how the bugs are avoiding Ruinneadair’s shoulder, avoiding the bullet wound. There’s no blood, but the skin around it is a sickly grey, rough, coarse. It’s spreading, crawling up her skin like poison. He knows she won’t live much longer.

_ “Let us leave,”  _ Skulduggery says.  _ “We have no quarrel with you.” _

_ _ Ruinneadair looks at him then, and her expression of relief turns hard.  _ “You hurt me. You have hurt my King.” _

_ _ _ “Athair is unharmed,”  _ Skulduggery tells her. 

_ “I do not speak of Athair,”  _ she says, and the bugs begin angrily buzzing, batting at the air shield Skulduggery holds high.  _ “You have been here before. I will not let you leave again.” _

_ _ “Right,” Skulduggery says, and levels his revolver at her. Valkyrie tenses and Ruinneadair stares at the gun, teeth bared and feral. “Valkyrie, come here.”

She does, and he slides his arm around her waist, holds tight. 

_ “Your magic is useless against this,”  _ he tells Ruinneadair.  _ “So you’re going to let us go, or I will kill you, right here, right now.” _

_ _ They stare at each other. Seconds tick by, and then, the bugs quiet.

_ “I will follow you,”  _ Ruinneadair promises him.

_ “And I will kill you. What a pair we make,”  _ Skulduggery says, and then launches into the air with Valkyrie in tow.

“Will you tell me what the hell is going on?” Valkyrie shouts past the rushing wind.

“She’s the Tooth Fairy and Fae Queen,” he says. “The last time we were here, I think we might have met her husband. You  _ really  _ need to work on your Gaelic.”

“I wouldn’t need to if you would just  _ talk  _ to me,” she says, and the bite in it renders him silent and leaves an expression of regret on her face. They land back in the clearing, and the forest is full of angry buzzing. Athair scrambles to his feet.

“You’re alive,” he says in surprise.

“Small mercies,” Skulduggery grunts. “We’re leaving, and you’re coming with us.”

“Well, you can’t get back without me,” Athair points out smugly. “What if I’ve changed my mind? I could build a nice little cottage here, have a vegetable garden-”

Valkyrie grabs him by the lapels and lifts him clear off the ground.

“Hi, hey,” she says, face very close to his. “Look. I’ve had a hell of a day and I just really want to go home. So you’re going to shut up and nut up, and I’m going to shunt us back and you’re going to come quietly in cuffs or I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll be astral-fucking-projected into next week. We clear?”

“You can’t shunt us back,” Athair scoffs.

“Can too,” Valkyrie says, and with no small amount of satisfaction, headbutts him so hard he blacks out.

“I warned him,” she says to Skulduggery.

“You did,” he agrees, and she grins at him for a moment before her expression fades, becoming carefully neutral. 

“I take it we aren’t going back for the old bag?” Valkyrie says, letting Athair drop to the ground and keeping hold of him with one hand.

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Skulduggery says. “And to be honest, I’m not exactly sure how we’d contain the literal Fairy Queen.”

“Suits me just fine,” she says, and reaches out to him. It feels like an olive branch that  _ he _ should be extending. He takes it though, feeling terribly guilty, and watches as her face screws up in concentration. 

It’s not as quick and easy as it seemed for Athair, reality vibrating around them, and then with a huff of breath Valkyrie drags them back through this universe and into their own. They’re back in the ring of stones.

“There you are!”

They both turn to find Mellifluous running towards them, looking incredibly relieved. “Thank God, I thought-” She stops when she sees Athair, unconscious and sprawled and bruised. “Oh. He’s alive.”

“Unfortunately,” Skulduggery says. “Please escort Valkyrie back to the ring. I have some business to attend to.”

Valkyrie looks at him but doesn’t ask, slinging Athair over her shoulder. Once she and Mellifluous have left the clearing, he reaches out and envelops the ring in the hottest fire he can manage, for as long as he can hold it.

For a split second- buzzing, the crackle of something that smells like flesh, before it becomes charcoal. He releases his hold on the fire, and when the flames vanish, the entire clearing is ash; the rocks are gone.

-

A week later, once the gears have been transported back to Mellifluous’s house and reinstalled, once Athair has been processed and sent to the Sanctuary’s highest level prison, once Skulduggery has finally had some blessed time alone to try and figure out what to do next, Valkyrie kicks in his door.

He looks up from his tablet. “You could have knocked,” he says mildly.

“So you can pretend not to be home?” she replies, stalking towards him. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve been busy,” he protests.

“Busy avoiding me,” Valkyrie agrees. “Are we just never going to talk about it again?”

He puts down his book, and steels himself. “I didn’t think it’d be something you want to talk about.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about it?” She says in disbelief. “You’ve been in love with me for- what, nearly a century? And you never thought to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She stares at him. “Hurt me? Are you actually as thick as you look?”

“I just meant- I didn’t want to jeopardise our friendship by making you feel uncomfortable.” 

“Uncomfortable?” She echoes.

He pauses then. “You  _ are _ uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

“God, you’re an absolute moron,” she says, and pulls him down by his tie to kiss him.

“Oh,” he says once she lets him go. “I. You.”

“I was thinking we could get dinner tonight,” she says, as if nothing out of the usual has just occurred. “Pizza, maybe.”

“Yes,” he nods. “Pizza.”

“And then, maybe, I could stay over,” she continues.

“I suppose that could be arranged,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “Are you sure, Valkyrie?”

“You better kiss me again just so I know for sure,” she says, and grins at him. But the grin is soft, has him holding her by the waist and turning his face to meet hers, turning it into something hungry and wanting as his facade flicks on, flowing up over his skull.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m sure.”


End file.
